


Innocence

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Fingolfin [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:41:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Nerdanel, Melkor and Nolofinwe all contemplate innocence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Innocence

“Mother”, he called out enthusiastically, “I have news!”

I turned to the doorway where he stood; his tall, lithe form elegantly encased in grey robes. I could not help gazing admiringly at the finest work that Fëanáro and I had wrought, our first born.

“What is it, Maitimo?” I asked him as he came to my side, his grey eyes sparkling with their usual naïve, yet wise intensity.

A paradox, this son of mine. I have seen him ruthlessly bring down opponents at debates in his grandfather’s court, following in the footsteps of Nolofinwë, who was his mentor. Maitimo hates the business of the forge, which is the reason why he is not as close to Fëanáro and I as our younger sons are. But in his own way, he is loyal and devoted to his parents. Indeed, he alone of our sons, visit me regularly at my father’s home now that Fëanáro and I are parted.

“Father has finished the building of his new forge at the palace, he wishes that you would join him there for the lighting of first fire in its furnace”, he said, sitting in a chair across me, his fingers steepled to hold his chin.

He takes after neither Fëanáro nor I. He has a strong resemblance to Finwë and it is said by the elder nobles that his eyes are the eyes of Míriel Serindë the Broidress. His hair is still a cause of much debating, nobody knows where he inherited that particular shade of red from. But when he stares at a person, his gaze calm and unyielding, then one realizes that in him flows the blood of Noldor royalty deeper than in any other.

He was gazing at me in that thoughtful, pensive manner of his.

“I cannot come”, I said sharply, “The rumours abound that your father is involved in a relationship of the incestuous nature with your uncle.”

“Rumours are the result of an increase in the number of idle trouble-mongers in the city”, he said promptly, his diplomatic soul coming to the fore.

“There must be a spark of truth to start this wildfire of rumours”, I said determinedly, I had always wondered why he continued to turn a blind eye to the less than noble doings of his kin.

“Be that as it may”, he said pleasantly, “you have a lover, of whom people know of. So father is equally free to take a lover.”

“Nolofinwë is his brother!” I hissed sharply.

Maitimo’s eye widened in honest bewilderment before he asked, “Did you not teach me that the laws of the gods cannot rule the passions of our hearts?”

I stared for a moment into his deep grey gaze. I could see only a mix of confusion and conviction. Lack of guile. 

I drew in a deep breath; Innocence, this son of mine, untarnished by the morals of the world.

 

 

I watched him interestedly as my minions brought him into my hall. Tall and slender as is characteristic of his race. He favoured one leg heavily, a cost of the foolish gambit that he had taken. I had never expected a grandson of Finwë to fall for that obvious trap, was he that desperate for the jewel? Perhaps there is more to the rumours of their oath than they let on. Interesting indeed.

He held his head high and defiant as he was dragged before me. I could see no fear in his remarkable grey eyes. 

Before I could even address him, the young fool shouted proudly, “CURSED SHALL BE YOU, MORINGOTTO!”

I sighed, this was a naïve one. The Sindar and Avari that constituted my usual entertainment were far more cunning and careful. They trusted their wits more than they trusted the goodness of the Valar. But the Noldor, they still clung to their Valinorean naivety, that nothing in the world was as malicious as it seemed to be.

He was panting hard as he glared at me, the full force of those grey eyes on my visage. I could see traces of his grandfather in him. And of the Broidress. A scion of the royalty indeed. His stiff ramrod posture despite his many wounds, his blazing eyes, his aristocratic features.

“I demand that I be returned to my kin, traitor”, he said furiously.

“Apparently you are under the delusion that I went to all the trouble of capturing you alive so that I could see your charming face, get shouted at, and then send you back to your brothers”, I said dubiously.

“You played false, after offering us a truce”, he said indignantly, anger suffusing his pale, noble features.

“After all I have wrought, did you truly think that I cared for battle field honour?” I asked sarcastically. 

My customary cruelty had been stayed so far, I was honestly appalled by his sheer innocence and trust in honour. Even after my minions rough handled him, he still had belief that I would release him.

His chin rose high as he glared at me and said proudly, “Truly have you fallen low then, if you condone abduction and violence.”

“I think I might teach you more in Angband than your uncle and grandfather succeeded in teaching you in your pasture lands of Aman”, I said laughing coldly, “Untried you are in the ways of Middle Earth. But not for long.”

 

 

I moved forwards and knelt before him. Caring not the least for the soiled condition he was in, I dragged him to my chest and folded my arms about him. The stench that emanated from him was overpowering and made me feel nauseous. But I boldly pressed a chaste kiss to each of his grimy cheeks and cupped his chin. His tortured grey eyes met my own. For a moment I was reminded of the vulnerable trust they had held when I held him for the first time. He had always trusted me, even when he had not trusted his own parents or siblings or cousins.

Russandol sighed as I held him tightly, soothing his naked back riddled with scabs and welts. It must have been painful to him, but he seemed to have lost the ability to feel pain. 

“Welcome home, Russandol”, I whispered as tears fell from my eyes onto his face, determinedly tracing clean rivulets down the grimy cheeks of my nephew. If my tears and blood were all that was required to cleanse his mind and body, I would gladly have given both.

 

I lifted my nephew into my arms and carried him into my chambers. 

 

I was sitting in my self-imposed vigil by my nephew’s side that night when a figure glided to the bed quietly. 

“He is asleep”, Macalaurë tentatively sat on the edge of the bed and looked down upon his sleeping brother, “If you would wish it, please, I shall stay here until you are more rested, Nolofinwë.”

I stood up quietly and moved out of the room. I could see Macalaurë’s profile, so like Fëanáro’s, through the thin curtain. With a kind of terrible fascination that my age has not tempered, I waited and watched.

He reached out one of his artist’s hands to smoothen the unkempt, sun-burnished red tresses. Earlier they had been mahogany copper in hue. Now it was the colour of the blood we had all spilt, a grotesque reminder of our sins. 

“Russandol”, he bent to press a kiss to his brother’s forehead gently.

I was about to re-enter and tell him that he would wake his brother with his fussing about when Russandol stirred, the effects of the sedative the healers had given wearing off him. 

“Macalaurë”, his voice seemed weaker, though much less hoarser than it had been when Findekáno had brought him.

“Russandol”, Macalaurë sighed as he took his brother’s left hand in his own and kissed the palm.

I could see Russandol stiffening even from my half-hidden position. Macalaurë smiled softly as he bent down further to press a chaste kiss to his brother’s stump of a right hand.

“My dearest brother”, Macalaurë said in his soothing, melodious tones, “You are here, that is all that matters.”

“I am but half of the person I once was. I was taken to the brink of death and brought back countless times. I am not even sure that I am sane, Macalaurë”, Russandol confessed, I breathed deeply as the familiar sad, wise intensity returned to his words.

“Without you, I was insane. Our brothers left me in Nolofinwë’s care when my madness worsened”, Macalaurë said quietly.

“Then I am glad that I did not die”, Russandol said simply, “I would have sacrificed all my limbs before even a hair of yours was hurt, my brother.”

I leant against the door, closing my eyes as tears flowed down my cheeks and my throat burned in suppressed emotion upon hearing his simple statement. To me, those few words described everything that my nephew was. 

 

“Nolofinwë”, he murmured in quiet acknowledgement as I entered his chamber in the morning, “I was about to call for aid.”

“What is it, Russandol?” I smiled as brightly as I could while taking in the damaged body before me. He looked more elven today, but there was a strange resigned maturity about him. His grey eyes sparkled knowingly as he registered my gaze.

“I have changed, have I not?” he said quietly, “Ah, Nolofinwë, days and nights on the Thangorodrim without respite and hope do rather morph us into something less vivacious.”

“Russandol”, I said quellingly as he gave me a bitter smile, “You endured.”

“That is a different way of putting what I did…”, he said wryly, his grey eyes sparkling with ironic humour, “I was just screaming while I had the energy. And just lying limp when I no longer had the stamina to scream.”

I gripped his chin and made him look up, “You are the king now, Russandol. So you will have the personal pleasure of leading our army against the damn blackguard Morgoth. We will win.”

“I am king, aren’t I?” he said uneasily as I helped him sit up and drink the bitter draught, “You know, Nolofinwë, it is really a bad time for the Noldor, we have a king who cannot even feed and bathe himself.”

“Russandol”, I sat down beside him and ran my hand along his bruised legs, “We are a lucky people. We have a king who can endure.”

“Take up the kingship, Nolofinwë”, Russandol leant back onto the cushions and closed his eyes wearily, “I will learn to walk independently before I can even dream of ruling our people. You can do it.”

“I cannot”, I said dryly, “Remember what happened when I was king in Tirion. That is how we ended up here in the first place.”

“Findekáno told me of the tensions in the lines”, Russandol said gravely, “We must unite the people, Nolofinwë. You are in majority. And my father’s oath hangs over my brothers and me. You should take the kingship.”

“You cannot give me what is not yours to give”, I said severely, “My father named you the third of his line. You are king.”

“Do you want me alive and sane?” he asked me quietly, his eyes boring into mine. The eyes that had always made me feel less wise compared to him, “Do you want me to lead our people into a quagmire that is worse than this? To turn slowly mad in the end as Father did? I am too broken to be a king, Nolofinwë, that is the truth of it. If you wish to grant me some sort of peace, take it.”

“I cannot survive these past years’ ordeal again”, I said frankly, “Nor can Findekáno or Macalaurë.”

“Then do this for me. Take up the kingship, Nolofinwë”, he said earnestly, “I lie if I say I am being selfless. I lie if I say that I don’t want to be the ruler of the Noldor. But my dear Nolofinwë, it is a matter of worth, and of circumstance. I can only say that I am relieved it will be you. I will not abdicate in favour of any of my brothers. We have fallen low, true, but I will never voluntarily doom us further. Of us, you are the worthiest.”

“Only after you”, I whispered.

“Please”, he closed his eyes exhaustedly, “It is no longer easy to do what is right, Nolofinwë. Don’t make it harder for me.”

His father’s madness, Manwë’s plotting, my wilfulness, Angband. In our own way, we had all destroyed his innocence.


End file.
